


All In a Night's Work

by gnomi



Category: Glee
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s05e15 Bash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:39:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1448878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnomi/pseuds/gnomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For her, it’s just another night at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All In a Night's Work

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, to Jen (froggydarren) for the beta. I’m always drawn to the outsider’s POV. And this one wouldn’t let me go.

The good thing about it was that it wasn’t late at night. It felt late, because it had been dark for close to three hours, but it was still the dinner hour, so people were around when it happened. Which made it easier for the kid in question; he didn’t spend hours lying in that alley waiting for someone to find him.

She and James had been on their way back to base after a wave-off from the parents of a kid with a possible tib-fib fracture (not her problem if the parents get stuck in traffic with a wailing kid in the back seat of a cab for 30 blocks; if they didn’t want to cover the copay for an ambulance and so refused transport, that’s their issue). She was about half-way through shift -- she’d been on since 1600, and while it hadn’t been the quietest shift she’d had, it wasn’t the worst, either. The snow and ice were mostly gone, so the slip-and-falls were down, and the weather was warming up, at least a bit, so fewer idiots with frostbite. Before she worked the city, she hadn’t realized that it was possible to get frostbite in everyday city living, but somehow the idiots always found a way.

When the call came in, they knew they were the closest. She flipped on the siren as James turned onto the closest eastbound cross street and then zooms down Lexington until she can see the flashing blue lights from the NYPD cars parked all askew in the middle of 73rd. They turned onto 73rd even though it was one way the wrong direction -- they’re in an ambulance, damn it; no one was gonna ticket them -- and pulled up behind the last police car. As she jumped down from the bus and headed to the back for equipment, one of the cops jogged up.

“Young guy, probably late teens, early 20s. Some random called it in; fight or something in the alley. Looks like he was jumped by a couple of thugs, but all his valuables are there, so unlikely to be a mugging. He’s conscious but not very. Took a lot of trauma to the head.”

“A bashing?” she asked as she gathered her supplies and James joined her at the back of the bus. “Hasn’t been a thing here so much since ‘09. I know it’s bad other parts of the city, but it’s been quiet here.” She shuddered at the memory of some of the cases they’d picked up in the past. This one seemed to be not so bad if he was at least somewhat conscious.

Once James had unloaded the stretcher and she had all the other equipment, they moved as the well-trained team that they were into the alley. She saw the guy lying on his right side, curled into the fetal position, and was grateful to be working with cops who knew what to do (and what _not_ to do). 

She kneeled down next to the guy and did her own quick assessment. A bleeding head lac, significant neck bruising. By the guy’s head she noticed a brick -- already tagged by the cops -- that had some blood on it; that could’ve caused the head lac for sure. 

The guy groaned softly, and she reached out her hand, placing it lightly on the guy’s shoulder. “Sir, I’m Stephanie, and I’m a paramedic. Can you tell me your name?”

“Kurt,” whispered the guy. “Kurt Hummel.”

“I’m gonna put a collar around your neck, and then I’m gonna roll you onto your back, if that’s OK.”

“Hurts,” the guy -- Kurt -- said.

“I know, and I won’t lie to you; what I’m gonna do to you isn’t going to be particularly comfortable. But don’t worry; I’ve got some stuff that’ll make you feel a little better.” She slid the cervical collar on and then gently rolled him onto his back, looking for any sort of MedicAlert tag while she did so. Not seeing any, she figured she was safe with meds, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. “You allergic to anything?”

“Pineapple?” Kurt said, his tone indicating that he didn’t think that was the right answer.

She laughed and said, “How about medications?”

“Maybe the ‘cillins,” he mumbled, clearly coming to the end of his lucidity. She couldn’t blame him; he was likely in tons of pain.

She got 5 mg of morphine set up in the syringe, then said, “OK, I’m gonna give you a shot in your upper arm, and then you’ll start to feel less pain pretty quickly.” At the affirmative-sounding grunt she got, she administered the injection and then started getting him prepped to go into the bus. The rest of the work up could happen on the way to New York Pres; from what she could see, he wasn’t emergent in the way others she’d taken post-bashing were, but she’d as soon get him into an ED than have him stay in this alley.

“Hey,” James said, coming around with the gurney. He put it down to its lower level, and then they rolled Kurt onto it and popped it up for transport. “We’re gonna take good care of you,” he said to Kurt. “Do you have anyone we should call?”

“Fiancé,” Kurt mumbled, the drugs starting to take effect and slowing down his speech. “In my phone.”

Stephanie let James do the patting around in the guy’s pockets as she got Kurt strapped onto the gurney and started moving it toward the bus. When James came up with the phone, he handed it to her and let her find the number as he was getting Kurt settled. She was pleased to find that the phone didn’t have an access code, and she quickly found her way to the contacts list. She was even more pleased to find an ICE number at the top of the Favorites list. She pulled out her own phone and dialed. She hated making these calls, but at least in this case she could give a small amount of good news. On the second ring, the call was picked up.

“I’m calling for Blaine Anderson?” she said to the guy who answered the phone.

“This is Blaine,” the person answered.

“My name is Stephanie, and I’m with the ambulance corps out of New York Presbyterian Hospital. I’m sorry to tell you that I’m here with Kurt, and there’s been an incident.” She winced as she heard what she was saying. Just because she had to make these calls frequently didn’t mean she was any good at it. “He’ll be all right, but he was found in an alley, and it looks like he’s been beaten up. We’re taking him to the Emergency Department at New York Pres.”

The guy quickly assured her that he was on his way, but she knew that no matter where he was in the city, unless he was already at the hospital, they would get there before he did. As a general rule that was good, on multiple levels. First of all, she didn’t do very well with relatives of the people she took care of; that’s why she was a paramedic, not an ED doc. Second, though -- and much less selfishly -- this meant that the docs could get some of the worst of the blood washed off before the family saw the patients.

James had the siren running and they were on the move as soon as she closed the back of the bus. She sat with Kurt and did his work up as James careered through the city streets to the hospital. It was less than a mile, and as far as she could tell there wasn’t any internal bleeding, but she was glad that James wasn’t wasting any time, because bleeders could hide and could be insidious. She was content knowing that they’d get Kurt into the hands of the team at the ED, but then they’d be on their way again, off to whichever next call they were closest to. 

After her first couple of cases as a paramedic, she’d trained herself not to think about what happened to the patients after they left her care. If she’d taken the mental energy to do so for every case she saw, she would have burned out years ago. She wished Kurt well, wished his fiancé well, too. New York wasn’t paradise by any means -- if it were, she’d be out of a job -- but it was her city, grime and crime and all.

And, if she were honest, she wouldn’t want it any other way.

END


End file.
